


Get off my musketeer

by stardust009



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis and his beautiful acting skills, Athos musing, M/M, Modern AU, Porthos the Pirate, Speaking French, d'artagnan being horny, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust009/pseuds/stardust009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Established OT4 in modern day: Aramis wants to role-play like they are musketeers in the year 1630, but what seems like a fun idea turns into small chaos in their king-size bed.</p><p>Prompt fill</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get off my musketeer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a wonderfully hilarious kink prompt - http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1213.html?thread=1910717#cmt1910717
> 
> \------------------------------------------  
> I thoroughly enjoyed writing this inbetween the chapters of my far more angst-filled fic.  
> \------------------------------------------

“Come on, it’s my birthday. You all promised.”

Whilst Porthos and d'Artagnan were both sitting on the king-sized bed that Aramis had somehow managed to squeeze into his bedroom, Aramis himself was standing up at the foot of it and looking at them.

“Yes but I didn’t realise it was going to be quite so....serious,” Porthos mused, looking at the hats and the swords which Aramis had acquired from a local fancy-dress shop.

“We can’t be musketeers without the outfits,” Aramis pointed out with a sigh and turned to watch Athos who had only recently come back after handing in his essay at the last minute. When he realised that Aramis was looking at him he paused in the untying of his trainers. He could see by the way that Aramis was staring that he wanted help. So Athos kicked his trainers off and looked at the two on the bed.

“We did promise,” he mumbled, hoping that was enough support to please the birthday boy.

“Whatever you want to do, Aramis, you all said,” Aramis reminded them. “Whatever fantasy you have we’ll do it as it’s your birthday. Well...role-playing is my fantasy. Now put your hats on and let’s get into character.” He put one onto his own head and then shared the others out. They all obediently did the same, even though d'Artagnan’s fell over his eyes which made Porthos laugh. The glare that d'Artagnan shot back wasn’t hugely effective considering most of his face was covered by the hat so Porthos continued to find it amusing.

“Are you going to give us all character backgrounds or do we have to create our own?” Athos asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“We’re all Musketeers in 1630,” Aramis told them, handing out some swords too. Athos looked at his suspiciously and wondered what he was meant to do with it. He suspected that it might just cause an injury. “You Athos are the leader, you can be the Captain if you like. You’re from a noble family but you ran away because of demons from your past. Porthos, you’re the best at hand-to-hand combat but you grew up an orphan and penniless on the streets. I’m the best marksman and my parents wanted me to be a priest and d'Artagnan....you’re a farmboy from Gascon, the new recruit.”

D'Artagnan immediately frowned. He was two years below the others at University but why did he always have to be the ‘new’ one whenever Aramis invented a role-play? Porthos placed a sympathetic hand on d'Artagnan’s leg which immediately got a reaction from the younger man. He was full of hormones and it was hard to control him at the best of times, let alone when they were all alone in the house together. D'Artagnan used the invitation to twist and kiss Porthos’ shoulder and press his body up against him, rubbing up against the older man like an animal on heat. Porthos didn’t seem to mind but Athos was too busy contemplating his character to pay much attention.

“If I’m the Captain I should probably have the best hat,” Athos said, taking his off and looking down at it.

Aramis rolled his eyes. “They’re all the same. Right, in character, now.” Aramis, who was studying drama at University, went into character straight away and immediately came out with a rather impressive French accent. “Captain Athos, are you sure that it’s safe to hide in his abandoned farm-house? I know that Porthos is injured but should we not get back to the King?” Aramis asked, French accent not wavering. Porthos looked down at himself and wondered where he was injured, although he was then distracted by d’Artagnan’s hand which seemed to be sliding up the inside of his thigh. He reached out to re-adjust the hat which was falling off d’Artagnan head.

Athos paused for a moment, wondering if they were all meant to be putting on French accents. He decided not.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said to Aramis, feeling incredibly ridiculously with his hat on and holding a plastic sword. “Porthos needs to rest.” Porthos swatted d’Artagnan’s hand away just before it got between his legs.

“Stop it,” he frowned. “I’m injured, I need to rest.”

D’Artagnan frowned back, “What? I thought we were all having sex?!” He looked over at Aramis. “Don’t make one of us injured.”

“Ah sweet, d’Artagnan,” Aramis sighed dramatically, finally getting onto the bed and kneeling as he looked at the others. “You were so brave today. You killed your first man. How do you feel?”

D'Artagnan looked bemused about the whole thing. “I....I don’t know,” he said, not really sure how he was meant to respond to that but then a large grin spread across his face. “I think I’d feel better if you kissed me.” 

“I’ll kiss you,” Porthos offered when Aramis didn’t respond. He suddenly attacked d’Artagnan’s lips with his own and pushed him down onto the bed, pinning his larger body on top of the younger man who moaned into the kiss.

“Stop,” Aramis said with a frown and poked Porthos in the arse with his plastic sword. “You’re injured, I need to tend to your wounds, Monsieur Porthos.”

“How long have I been in the musketeers for?” Athos asked. “I assume it’ll be more than the rest of you if I’m the Captain.”

“I don’t know,” Aramis said, his attention turning from the kissing pair to Athos. “Does it matter?”

“Well yes, actually. It’s important to establish if I’m a tired and weary older Captain or a young and enthusiastic one.”

“I’m taking the rank off you,” Aramis said, looking a little bit pissed off. “You’re not a Captain anymore.” Athos gasped at his sudden demotion as Aramis poked Porthos with his sword again. Porthos finally pulled his lips away from d’Artagnan who lay panting on the bed.

“Oh, Porthos, you got blood all over my shirt,” d’Artagnan pretended. “I’d better take it off.” D’Artagnan started to remove his clothes. Aramis seemed pleased that Porthos was behaving again.

“Porthos, avez-vous mal?” Aramis asked which made Athos look up. Athos was quite impressed that Aramis had remembered some of the French he had been teaching him. He had honestly thought that Aramis had just requested the French lessons back when they had first met to seduce him. Well he had but...at least he had learnt some French at the same time. Unfortunately Porthos hadn’t been at the same lessons and just looked confused.

“Eh?”

“Not eh,” Aramis corrected him. “You need to say, pardon, Aramis?”

“Eh?”

Aramis sighed, “Are you injured, my friend?”

Porthos looked down at himself and wondered where he should be injured. Eventually he looked up with a cheeky glint in his eye. “Are you gonna kiss it better?”

“Yes but...you have to pretend to be French,” Aramis said, looking a little exasperated.

“Why French? Why can’t we be pirates? That’s far more fun. Avast, me lad, would ya mind if I fired me cannon into your porthole?”

“We’re being musketeers!” Aramis insisted. D’Artagnan was now sitting up against the pillows topless, his hat having fallen off.

“What am I meant to do with this?” d’Artagnan asked and picked his sword up, the point of which immediately hit Porthos in the face. Porthos cried out a ‘fuck’ and covered his face to protect himself. “Shit! Sorry!” d’Artagnan said and put the sword back down, trying to pull Porthos’ hand away to have a look. Aramis sighed.

“Arrr! Ye nearly poked me eye out!” Porthos grumbled, still doing his pirate voice.

“I’m not entirely sure that they’d even have pillows,” Athos pondered, looking at the bed he was sitting on. “Did you do much research on this, Aramis?”

“No, no I didn’t, Athos,” Aramis admitted. “I just wanted to have fun and get laid.”

“I’ll get my ipad,” Athos said and moved to get up off the bed.

"Well they certainly wouldn't have ipads!" Aramis pointed out which made Athos stop to think and then he sat back down again. Aramis shuffled forward and straddled Porthos' lap. He sat himself down and gently pulled away the hand which was still covering his face. Porthos let him and smiled up at Aramis, clearly he still had two eyes.

“Are you well, Porthos?” Aramis asked, even his French accent was slipping a little. Porthos smiled and immediately placed his hands on Aramis’ arse, giving it a good squeeze.

“Ay matey.” He yelped when Aramis smacked his shoulder.

“Musketeers!” Aramis boomed.

“Pardon,” Porthos said, he had been listening after all. He was too happy about having Aramis on his lap to misbehave now. His fingers dug into the curvy arse-cheeks beneath the trousers and he made Aramis move slowly up and down on his groin, just the way he liked it. “Come here, birthday boy,” he growled and lifted his head up to kiss Aramis. As their tongues rubbed up against each other their hats started to come off. Aramis reached up to hold his on. D’Artagnan watched them for a moment smiling, his hand was starting to undo the button of his jeans. He looked over at Athos, wondering if Athos wanted some attention but Athos looked like he was too busy thinking.

“What’s the matter?” d’Artagnan asked, moving closer.

“I’m just wondering what demons I’m running away from,” Athos admitted, looking troubled by the nonexistent demons. D’Artagnan sighed, knowing that he wasn’t going to get much fun out of Athos his attention turned back to the other two. Porthos’ hands were moving underneath Aramis’ T-shirt and running along the twitching muscles which he found covering Aramis’ stomach. By the time they pulled their lips away Aramis was sighing in delight as Porthos pulled his T-shirt up over his head and threw it somewhere across the room.

“What happened to my hat?” Aramis asked, now topless and looking around. Porthos shrugged, not really caring about the damn hat. Suddenly d’Artagnan had reappeared and he was spreading kisses up Aramis’ arm.

“Oy, you, excusez-moi, new recruit. Get off my musketeer.”

D’Artagnan grinned at Porthos cheekily before he bit down on Aramis’ skin which made Aramis jump and made Porthos scowl possessively.

“Oh I see how it is! You want a duel! Grab your sword, young d’Artagnan.”

“With pleasure!” d’Artagnan beamed, shoving his hands down his own trousers. “En garde!”

Suddenly Aramis was being shoved off the lap and fell onto the mattress. Porthos grabbed his plastic sword and he was soon clambering off the bed.

D’Artagnan looked entirely confused and his smile soon faded. “Wait, I thought that was all a euphemism,” d’Artagnan admitted.

“Come on then,” Porthos said, waving his sword around at d’Artagnan.

“I don’t want a duel, I want sex!” d’Artagnan said, refusing to get off the bed.

“YOU’RE ALL RUINING IT!!” Came a sudden yell and Aramis climbed off the bed and stormed across the room, slamming the bedroom door on his way out. The other three looked shocked and sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Then looked at each other guiltily.

“Come on,” Athos said calmly and they all got up, placing their musketeer hats on their heads they walked out of the bedroom together and went to find Aramis.

Aramis was downstairs in the living-room sitting on the sofa. He had his arms folded and he looked rather upset. He completely ignored all of them as they walked in. They all carefully went over, Porthos moving to kneel behind the sofa. He reached out first, wrapping his arms around Aramis, running his hands over the strong bare chest. He kissed Aramis on the ear and then nibbled on his earlobe.

“We’re sorry,” he whispered tenderly just before Athos appeared, sitting next to Aramis on the sofa and slowly leaned down, kissing across Aramis’ collarbone before finding a nipple and licking it gently. He only pulled his mouth away to speak softly for a moment, “Je suis désolé.”

Then d’Artagnan knelt on the rug between Aramis’ legs and ran both of his hands up Aramis’ thighs until one of them cupped him through his trousers. D’Artagnan didn’t say anything, just started rubbing Aramis’ covered cock through the fabric until he felt it twitch and come to life. Soon Aramis was visibly relaxing. He moaned and uncrossed his arms, allowing his lovers more access to his body. He hissed a little when Athos took his nipple between his teeth and gave it a gentle bite.

“Monsieur Aramis, bravest of all the King's Musketeers,” d’Artagnan said, looking up at Aramis. Aramis smiled. This was going to be a good birthday after all.


End file.
